Runaway
by Ghostey
Summary: I figure once I’m gone, Dad’ll have to pay more attention to you, Sammy. It’s better for the both of us… Don’t worry little brother. I’ll find you again someday... In 1991 Dean almost ran away for Sam. This fiction is if he did.
1. Chapter 1

**Runaway (You'll Understand When You're Older)**

**1991**

"_Dean? What are you doing?"_

"_Packing, Sam. I'm leaving. I can't take this anymore… Dad got back home last night at three in the morning. I woke up when I heard him come in. His clothes were covered in __**blood**_._ He wouldn't say a word about where he'd been, or what happened. Just __**yelled**__ at me to go back to bed."_

"_He was probably just __**tired**__, Dean."_

"_Maybe. But then it hit me. As long as we're living like this, nothing's ever going to change. We spend nights with aunts, uncles, friends you and I have never met, even strangers sometimes. When we're lucky… More often, we're just alone."_

"_So you're leaving __**me**__ alone? Don't go Dean. I need you."_

"_I figure once I'm gone, Dad'll have to pay more attention to you, Sammy. It's better for the both of us… Don't worry little brother. I'll find you again someday."_

It wasn't really better for the two of them. Dean knew that his father wouldn't be home for a while and Sam would be alone for couple following days. But Dean also knew that he needed the extra time in order to get as far away from his family as possible, so they wouldn't be able to find him again.

Then again, if Dean _was_ found maybe it would convince his father that he needed to stay home more often… show him that he needed to be there for him and Sammy…

No. This was the best way.

His father would be _forced_ to stay with Sam and be his _father,_ not just a man who drove them from place to place and taught them weapons-training and hand-to-hand combat maneuvers. And this way Dean too, would be able to settle down, find a nice family to live with, actually have time to study and do homework as opposed to playing Dad for Sam.

Dean could feel Sam's wide brown eyes boring into his back as he headed towards the front doors. Sam had been crying, _crying,_ but Dean hardened his will and told himself that he couldn't turn back from this. This way the only way to teach his father…

Only way for Sam to _have_ a father.

"Dean…" the eight-year-old whimpered.

"You'll understand this when you're older Sammy," Dean whispered under his breath. It was so low that he could barely hear himself, but he heard _his father_ saying it to him in his head.

Dean closed the front door, looking back at it mournfully before shrugging his duffle bag farther up his shoulder. It contained most of his stuff… couple of t-shirts, a flashlight with extra batteries, flint and tinder, a blanket and a pillow, two pairs of jeans, a picture of Sammy, John, and Mary… one or two knives.

He didn't know exactly where to go. He didn't know where they were half the time anyway. So he set out down the dimly lit road. Dean was surprised that Sam had yet to follow him, not that he wanted the eight-year-old to be running after him, but it would've meant a lot to the older sibling.

Dean reckoned he had walked almost six miles by the time it grew dark. Thankfully, the Winchester family had been in an area of Virginia when Dean decided to run away, luckily for him any which direction he went he was bound to find some form of civilization by way of small towns.

He meandered into a dilapidated art deco style diner, where the grey-haired waitress greeted him warmly.

"Hello honey! What is a handsome young man like yourself doing here alone at this time of night? Are your parents parking the car while you get a seat for them?" She asked, sickeningly sweet.

Dean just smiled at the woman, "No, my parents are dead, I'm running away from the child molester axe murderer who kidnapped me."

The woman took a step back, uncertain of how to respond.

Before the lady could recover Dean continued, "I'm joking ma'am. I just want a sandwich to go and two bottles of water. Whatever you have that's cheap." Dean had lifted one hundred fifty dollars from his father's duffle earlier, giving Sam forty to order pizza with if he ran out of food before Dad came back. He would need whatever money he could get, so he wanted to conserve it wisely.

"Well of course hun," she replied. "Why don't you grab a seat at the bar and I'll see what I can cook up for you. On the house, dear."

The woman walked behind the swinging kitchen door and Dean sourly crawled up on one of the bar stools. He hadn't planned on eating their at the diner, and he only wanted the sandwich to eat later… but then again… he was rather hungry, and he hadn't eaten earlier in the day, wishing to keep the shelves stocked for Sammy.

A warm meal would do him some good. Put bounce in his step so to say. And he would be able to walk further before settling down to sleep.

The very thought of sleeping caused Dean to shake nervously, the idea scared him more than he imagined back at the motel with his brother. He'd have to sleep outside, in the cold.

Alone.

No matter what John had put them through, he always kept Sam and Dean under a roof and clothed. Sometimes they didn't have enough food to fill their bellies, but John always provided shelter and the things necessary for _survival_.

He just hadn't provided the attention that Dean craved for him and his brother.

When the woman returned she brought out a steaming bowl of soup, a cup of hot cocoa, and a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. "Here sweetey, special from the kitchen just for you."

Dean eyed the lady, she was plump, and old enough to be his grandmother… acted like a grandmother too. He _hated_ how her eyes looked at him, with that recognizable _pity_ that he often received wherever the small family went.

_Something's not right with that father, to let his boys look that way._

_I wonder what happened to the kid's parents._

_Just look at that child._

_Oh that poor boy._

Nevertheless, he wasn't ashamed to wolf down a free meal. He'd have to tell Sam this trick next time Dad left town. Just go in looking sorry for yourself and…

Dean shook his head. No, there was no next time. He wouldn't be able to teach Sammy this and with luck he wouldn't have to.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing out here this late at night, sweetheart?"

The middle Winchester considered outright telling the woman _no,_ but that would've been rude. "I'm just coming home from the library," he lied, "I didn't realize what time it was, and I missed lunch, so I was planning on eating on the way. Mom wouldn't have had leftovers, because of my brothers and sisters. She always says if you're not home in time for dinner then you ain't getting any. Or something like that." Dean shrugged.

"Well don't worry about paying for that for a second dear. And I'll get you a couple of sandwiches for your family. No sense being hungry during the break. Just go ahead and throw them in your refrigerator and they'll last a few days."

"No really ma'am," Dean shook his head no, "That's really not necessary. I don't need more than one."

"Nonsense child, I would've had to throw them out anyway. How many siblings do you have? I'll pack you one for each of them."

Dean surrendered, "It's just Momma and my two brothers and two sisters and me. But the girls are babies, they don't need sandwiches." The woman bundled up in a brown bag four roast beef sandwiches with provolone and lettuce. Dean hadn't wanted to carry the sandwiches, it only meant more weight for him to carry, plus they wouldn't last more than a day without refrigeration.

However, it was only a little over 50 degrees Fahrenheit and in would only get colder as the night progressed. Maybe the sandwiches could tie him over two days or so before going bad.

"You just finish up that soup and sandwich. Holler if you need anything else, dear."

Dean was nibbling on the sandwich when another patron clicked on a television over the bar. The news was on, something about an eleven-year-old boy going missing in a nearby down. He watched warily as fleeting glances from around the diner encircled him… the people were comparing him in their minds to that other little boy.

He wanted to turn around, yell at all of them that that child wasn't him. _That kid could've been kidnapped! Or killed! I'm doing this on my own! Don't put me in the same boat as he is!_

Dean dipped the sandwich in the warm tomato soup nonchalantly, as if the news report didn't disturb him in the least. After all, he was just a happy kid on his way home to his mom after researching a school project… nothing more suspicious than that.

He unzipped his duffle and stuffed the sandwiches inside before anyone noticed the wad of clothes in it. He smiled at the waitress, and pushed his very empty plate and bowl toward her. "Thank you very much for the sandwiches ma'am. I'm sure Byron and Brent will love them."

"Here's the water bottles too," she added winking. "Come back soon child, we loved having you join us this evening."

He grinned and placed the water bottles in the side pocket of the duffle. Dean waved goodbye to the woman with a big fake smile plastered on his face and exited the diner. He'd have to make sure to go another good couple miles now, with a full stomach and energy to match.

Pulling his jacket tighter around him, Dean shivered at the prospect that he had left Sam nearly five hours earlier. _It felt like much longer than that. It must be terrifying to Sam_, Dean thought grimly, _he's probably going stir crazy waiting for Dad to come back._

Dean paused… Sam wouldn't wait for their father to come back.

No, if there was ever an emergency both boys had been taught (_trained, _Dean added dourly) to call either Bobby or Pastor Jim. Sam surely would've called one of the two by that point, and they would've contacted John.

Dean started to panic, his breaths getting shallower and more rapid. No, he couldn't be found… that would ruin everything he planned for Sammy. He had to keep going, no stopping for breaks, no sleeping… not until he was sure that John couldn't find him. People… people were witnesses, and Dean was certain that his father would speak to the lady at the diner.

The world seemed to swirl around Dean like an angry hurricane.

He needed to be away from people, at least for a little while. Dean looked up ahead and saw the sign for the interstate in little under than three miles. From there Dean would be able to travel faster and farther, sure he wouldn't be near any form of shelter, and there would be speeding cars but…

But he would be able to break away from this vagabond lifestyle that was his childhood.

He walked faster, reaching the exit in an hour from when he left the diner. It was roughly ten o'clock in the evening, and headlights still flooded the road with light. Dean could feel his limbs grow slower, he was exhausted from all the walking but he kept going.

In another two hours he walked another eight miles along a straight path south down the highway, keeping clear of the road yet far enough away from the trees lining the way. It amazed Dean how far he could travel, even being only twelve, but his small body was reaching it's stopping point, and Dean knew he had to stop sooner or later.

Dean dropped the duffle.

And he was so tired he couldn't bend over to pick it back up on his shoulder.

So instead, Dean dragged the duffle down into the ravine near the forest, out of sight of the cars on the soft grass. He pulled out his extra jacket with the hood and sat down, laying out the blanket and pillow for sleeping.

"Goodnight Sammy, goodnight Dad," he whispered into the darkness as his lids closed into a welcoming sleep.

To Be Continued

**Author's Note: **This little piece of fiction is based entirely on the Wildstorm comic series. The italicized portion at the beginning that starts the fiction is the "prologue" of volume 3.

As for me, while I do enjoy the notion that the boys knew about hunting, it's a very different take and very romantic idea that neither Sammy nor Dean knew their fathers crusade until later.

**Disclaimer: **I don't in anyway own Supernatural nor its affiliated comics.

**Please comment! I'm an architecture student… I don't get out much… I need love and support from random strangers.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Runaway (You'll Understand When You're Older)**

**1991**

_Dean dropped the duffle._

_And he was so tired he couldn't bend over to pick it back up on his shoulder._

_So instead, Dean dragged the duffle down into the ravine near the forest, out of sight of the cars on the soft grass. He pulled out his extra jacket with the hood and sat down, laying out the blanket and pillow for sleeping. _

"_Goodnight Sammy, goodnight Dad," he whispered into the darkness as his lids closed into a welcoming sleep._

The next morning, Dean woke up stiff and still tired. He rummaged through his duffle bag, taking out a water bottle and one of the sandwiches. He took a big gulp of the water and ate through half the sandwich before sealing it back up with the plastic bag it was held in.

He groggily sat up and stretched, yawning as he did so. The twelve-year-old hadn't been found, nor had any animals assaulted him during the night. In Dean's opinion, this qualified for a good night's sleep under his circumstances.

Dean would have to be careful at this part. More cars on the highway also meant more police cruisers, so Dean would have to travel closer to, if not in, the woods. It would make his journey, no, his _escape,_ more tedious as well as it would take longer than if he was walking on the straight grass.

But that was no big task, he thought about his brother, and what this would mean for him in the long run. It kept him going and all hesitation and trepidation Dean had felt last night vanished as he was bathed in the new day's sun.

He supposed he could continue south until he ran out of food and water, when he would stop to get some more. Dean laughed, he'd probably be pretty rank by then and some nameless waitress would toss him in the dishwasher to clean him up.

By that point, Dean would continue to travel making his way as far as he could and as fast as he could, while he still had funds. When those dried up he would pretend to cry and be put up in some orphanage to be taken to a foster family. Dad wouldn't know where to look first, and have to give up on finding Dean.

_Better for both of us,_ Dean remembered telling his brother.

The mid-December air curled around him, and he kept the jacket on from the night before, packing his blanket back into the blue duffle bag. He'd head south again, hopefully keep himself warm and make good distance before stopping to rest again.

Dean was puzzled, he thought that it would've gotten warmer as the day progressed and his walk lengthened, however, he was shocked and scared to feel the temperature dropping hour by hour. He silently wished he brought another jacket; he was freezing as he was with two.

The news would've mentioned if there was going to a nor'easter on the way, but Dean probably disregarded it. This had been the premier opportunity to sneak away undetected by his father. Dean smiled, if the blizzard didn't cause him to turn into a Winchester popsicle on the side of the highway then it would cover any tracks he might have left behind.

Sure enough, as the middle Winchester thought that, a snowflake landed on his nose and he looked at it cross-eyed, "Think that's funny? Dontcha bitch?" More and more began to fall and soon enough the whole ravine which he had been walking was dusted with a thin blanket of whiteness.

The weather was nasty, lashing through the trees with fierce gusts of wind and heavy snowfall beat against Dean, who was huddling and trying to keep warm in a little hovel near the highway. The young boy shivered uncontrollably… it hadn't been that bad the night before, he hated the north and its changing weather.

Dean tried to ignore the cold, reasoning that it couldn't last very long, storms pass, weather changes at drop of a dime.

The passing cars started to slow as the snow built up, and Dean realized if he moved from his location that he would be easily spotted. Dean scooted himself farther into the side of the earth, tightening his jacket around him. He placed his bag close to his chest for extra warmth and his blanket around his legs. He knew from training that he had to keep his chest warm… otherwise he'd be in worse trouble.

His hood up around his face, Dean watched the snow gather up around him, and he became just another mound on the side of the road. The boy's eyelids drooped and Dean was losing a fight with himself to stay awake. There was so much snow… everything was white and fluffy and _so cold._

Dean's concentration drifted away to the other times he had been in the cold, he had usually been with Sam, only on a few occasions he was by himself. When Sam had been four he was in bed with a fever, Dean went outside their motel window and made Sam a snowman. When he went back inside Dean showed Sam the snowman and taught him the "Frosty the Snowman" jingle.

Sam had sung it, albeit off-key, for the rest of the winter, it finally took John telling him that Frosty needed a break and teaching him the Twelve Days of Christmas, the kid would never remember all of them anyway.

Frosty… in fact… heh… he showed Sam the Snowman… Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer would be on tonight. Sam would probably watch it, even though he pretended not to. Dean teased him about Sam the Snowman… wondering if he would sing "Holly Jolly Christmas" with Burl Ives.

Part of Dean wanted to meet an abominable snow monster.

When Dean woke up again this time he was just relieved that he woke up at all. He found himself buried in the snow and the weather had gotten exponentially worse. He had to move, get his blood working… warm up.

He tried to get up but Dean found his legs were entirely asleep still, and they weren't waking up. Dean panicked, and the reality of the situation started to sink in…

He was going to die.

There wasn't anyone to rescue him.

He left behind the two people he trusted and depended on to be there for him.

Oh God.

Dean could feel tears fall down his cheek but even they were cold.

It amazed Dean, and terrified him about how he was going to die – his mother died by fire, and there he was, all of twelve years old, and he was going to die from ice. His mother had Dad with her when she passed – Dean had the company of passing cars.

No, Dean couldn't die this way; he wanted to protect Sammy and his dad from any more pain and loneliness. Dean fell onto his chest and began to crawl out to the open, with any luck he could motion for a car to stop and…

It was taking longer than he wanted, so Dean abandoned dragging his bag with him. He made it to the middle of the ditch before collapsing face first into the ground. He simply couldn't go any further. And he wouldn't be found. And he'd never get to see his father and Sammy again.

A loud screeching noise came from the highway and Dean dimly heard it through his cold-induced depression. Dean instinctively found the strength to curl up into a ball on his side as a large object flew over his head and crashed into the trees near him.

Dean let loose a guttural scream not daring to look at the accident which had happened. Instead, he turned away from the accident and shut his eyes tightly. In doing so he shut out the world entirely so the young man missed most of the chaos that followed.

What he did notice was a man shouting something, although it was muted at first, and in a moment of panic Dean tightened his hands over his ears to block out the man's voice. "No!" Dean shouted, even though the highway was only at a dull roar. "Leave me alone!" Dean protested once again.

"Oh my God," the man said, then he called out, "I've got a kid here!" He reached out and touched Dean's shoulder, "You okay son? Anything hurt?"

"No…" he stuttered, "I… I wasn't in th… the car."

The man gave Dean a look over and, deciding that he was alright to move, hoisted Dean up against his chest, wrapping his arms around the boy.

Dean didn't care that a stranger was holding him, nor did he care about being found. What he comforted in, was that the man reminded him of his father – and that he was warm. The young Winchester shivered once and so the man held him tighter.

"Allie! Get those blankets from the car."

"It's rea… really cold…" Dean stammered quietly, his voice barely a whisper over cracked and cold lips. By this point Dean stopped shaking and shivering entirely, it wasn't helping anyway, and the little voice in his head told him that this was terribly, terribly bad.

"What is it Frank?" Came the concerned voice of a female as Dean was wrapped in something. The boy couldn't tell what it was, but it was bluish or green – it didn't matter.

"The boy said he wasn't in the accident," the man replied.

Dean could hear the woman dimly run somewhere and return with a mug. "You don't think this boy's been out here in the storm do you?" He felt warm flesh press against his forehead. "This boy is freezing!"

"I know, give me the coffee for him. Call 911."

Dean couldn't focus any longer on the couple – the man attempted to open Dean's mouth and force Dean to sip the bitter coffee. Dean shut his mouth tightly and shook his head mumbling a weak protest.

"Yes… 95… just outside …. No, we don't … severe hypoth…"

Dean thought of the snowman he made for Sam years ago.

How it waved at them nice and warm inside their motel room.

And he hoped Sam and Dad were warm – because right now he was the snowman.

The man closed Dean's mouth for him and watch as the boy's eyes rolled back into his head. He held the side of Dean's head with his gloved hand and pressed it against his breast, looking to the woman anxiously and whispering, "tell them to hurry."

Dean felt consciousness return to him, but his mind was still in a fog. He groggily opened up his eyes halfway and noticed two differences from the last time he fell asleep – one, there wasn't a blanket of snow, but a knitted blue blanket, and two that it was warm.

Tilting his head to one side he saw the curly head of hair that was all too familiar to the young man. Sam was sleeping, and if Dean hadn't been so tired he would have reached out and played with his brother's hair.

"Hey Dean," he heard the gruff voice of his father from behind him.

Dean looked at his father with wide eyes but didn't say anything.

John sighed and pulled his chair closer to Dean's bedside. He noticed Dean gulp and try to say something but the widow held his hand up to keep his son quiet. "Dean," he began softly, "I know I'm not always there for you and Sammy." He gave Dean a knowledgeable look, "Sam told me why you left. Listen son, I can't promise you that I can always be there, and I didn't raise you to need me. I want you and your brother to rely on each other."

"But I just want you _home_ Dad," Dean croaked.

The widow held one of Dean's hand with his own two large calloused hands. It was still cold, but the couple who had found Dean had found him just in time. From what John could figure, Dean had spent the night in the storm, was near to death from hypothermia.

If that accident happened right by where Dean had been, Dean would probably died in less than a few hours.

"I know Dean. But sometimes I can't be home, and someday I won't come home."

"Why not? You're the best there is…"

"Because things can go wrong Dean. You know that yourself." Keeping one hand holding Dean's, John took his other and patted Dean on the knee and added with a grin, "Get some rest Dean, we'll talk about your punishment later."

Dean mumbled indiscernibly. He kind of wished Sam would wake, but his brother would be there when he woke up, and on the road to their next town. But this time Dean promised himself he wouldn't focus on Dad being gone, but looking forward to him coming back.

**THE END**

**Author's Note: **Sorry about you know, the long period between these chapters. College does that to a girl. Anyway, happy holidays! I know that Actually one of you guys thought that I would take this years down the road, and I might do that, but not for this fic. Maybe in a few weeks or months or something. Already have an idea for it too, coming off the first chapter of this.

**Disclaimer: **I don't in anyway own Supernatural nor its affiliated comics.

**Please REVIEW! It encourages me haha**


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